Boise

This machine fixes your dreams.
If you want to see a globe
you are surrounded by bricks.
As you wander around the bathysphere
you count the falling stars.
When you hear the radio
you dream about marshmallows.
This is the way your emotions
are whittled down to wheat stalks.
This is the way you don’t wake up
with your hand on your forehead.
I want to place a bucket of affection
on your doorstep. I want to walk
around the galaxy twelve times.

Previously published in Everyday Genius.

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Alina Gregorian‘s poems have been published in Boston Review, GlitterPony, H_NGM_N, and other journals. She curates a poetry reading series at the Huffington Post, co-curates Triptych Readings, and co-edits the collaboration press Bridge. She teaches creative writing at Rutgers University, and lives in Brooklyn, NY.

Object(s) to bring back to life: “Arkansas, 1927.” | Photo credit: Paige Taggart

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